When Libby Met the Fairies and her Whole Life Went Fae by Kirsten Mortensen

be okay for three or four more days, she figured.
    For reading, she went back and forth between books on organic farming and novels. Paperbacks, picked up at garage sales. Historicals, a lot of them, alphabetical by author on the built-in bookshelves at one end of her living room.
    Bad as things were, at least she knew pretty soon the power would come back on. Which was better than people had it in the 16th century.
    Okay, yeah, it was dull. Despite the paperbacks. Also, she hadn’t printed out any of the forms she needed to do for her organic certification. They were all online. If she’d printed them out, at least she’d have had that to do.
    The power was bound to come on pretty soon, anyway.
    She didn’t go for any walks.
    She found herself wondering, once, where the little man had sheltered during the ice storm but she quickly shoved that treasonous thought from her head.
    Little man. Right.
    Cuckoo, cuckoo.
    ♦ ♦ ♦
     
    Somebody was banging on her door.
    She had piled all the blankets she owned onto her bed and had burrowed under them, so it took her a few minutes to burrow out again and answer it.
    So by the time she got there, he was walking back down the driveway. Her posted sign neighbor. And Bo.
    He didn’t hear Libby open the door. Bo did, though, and when he turned and looked at her, the man did, too.
    He walked back up her drive. “So. You are still here,” he said.
    “Yeah.”
    He took a few steps closer. “Where’s your niece?”
    “Rochester.”
    “She left you?”
    Libby shrugged. “She went to stay with a friend who has power.”
    “Why didn’t you go, too?”
    “Why should I?”
    He shook his head. “You don’t have a woodstove, do you?”
    Duh. As if that wasn’t obvious. She was bundled into enough clothes, she could have passed for a caterpillar. Even without the hookah.
    “You do know it’s supposed to get down into the teens tonight?”
    “I’ll be fine.” She seemed to be arguing that point a little too often lately.
    “Look. You’d better come to my place. I have heat—”
    “I don’t even know who you are. But thanks for offering.”
    He looked like he might try to argue, but he didn’t.
    “Suit yourself.”
    He turned north at the end of her drive. Not toward his property, toward the next house, she thought. Another three-quarters of a mile up the road.
    Checking on the neighbors.
    She went back to her bedroom. Okay. The teens. That was . . . that was cold. People-die-of-hypothermia cold. She blew a plume of breath into the air and pulled her hat—navy Polartec—more snugly over her head.
    So maybe it hadn’t been so smart to stay here instead of catching a ride to Rochester with Maisey. Time to swallow her pride. Call Paul. Tell him to come fetch her.
    She hit the power button on her cell.
    The light didn’t come on.
    Dead.
    Deep breaths. Deep breaths. No need to panic. She’d made her decision. She was going to be fine. Just like she’d been saying.
    She crawled back under her covers, covering everything except her nose.
    Damn it was cold.
    ♦ ♦ ♦
     
    Banging on the door again.
    She got up. More quickly this time.
    “The name’s Trevor Dean Milbrant.” He held out his hand and she took it and they shook. “I go by Dean.”
    “Libby Samson. Let me get my boots.”

10
     
    “Oh gawd.” It slipped out without her meaning it to. “Heat.”
    She’d never been in a place heated with wood before. So it was her first time experiencing wood stove heat, which is real heat, blast you in the face when you step inside and then warm-you-to-your bones heat.
    “You can put your things right there,” Dean said. He meant her layers.
    Too late, she remembered that the innermost was her pajamas. As it had gotten colder, she’d just added more over the top.
    “What now?” He’d noticed her hesitate.
    “I’m—I’m actually in my PJs.”
    He rolled his eyes. “And me, without a tux.”
    She decided to leave her sweatshirt on. At least she was wearing